The Snow White Queen
by everendeavor
Summary: "Rhosyn fell back from the door, haunted by her mother's image and a determination to never return again. She didn't want to be pretty; she didn't want to owe her soul to a piece of glass." The cost of vanity. Snow White and The Snow Queen.
1. Chapter 1

The Snow White Queen

She ran, stumbling blindly down stairs, through abandoned hallways, into unfeeling shadows—_Away_. Stone scraped her skin raw through her delicate nightgown and splinters pierced flesh, but she didn't dare stop. Fear made her impervious to the pain. The rhythm of bare feet slapping cold floor echoed her heartbeat. It pounded in her throat, amplified by the ragged sobs that tore themselves from her.

What had she done?

She could still hear Vanora's anguished lament. The howl chased her no matter which way she turned. Behind her, doors were opened and candles lit as servants poured into the corridor, hurrying to find out what was wrong with their distressed, wailing queen. They ignored Rhosyn in their haste, and she was happy to be forgotten. Her mother's cry drove her from the castle and into the black courtyard. She no longer knew if the voice she heard was real or merely a haunting echo in her mind, but it didn't matter anymore. She couldn't stay.

Why had she done it?

The outline of the forest began just beyond the city gates. It grew taller and bleaker with each pounding step. The trees stretched along the horizon, beyond the edge of her vision. Behind them, streaks of early sunlight scattered the stars and midnight blue sky, but the darkness overwhelmed her again with her first running stride into the forest. Fear and adrenaline kept her warm, but the chilly air hovered just outside her thin shield. She would have to get used to the cold, she knew. She was alone.

Where did she go now?

* * *

_Rhosyn stole quietly into her mother's dressing chamber, cringing every time the floorboard squeaked. She forcibly suppressed her gasp when a bubble of hot wax from her candle dripped onto her hand. Her flesh burned, but not as much as her curiosity. It had been many years since she had ventured into the forbidden room—her nights were usually spent better in haunted dreams after lonely days—but she was desperate now, more than ever, to understand her mother's obsession. _

_Just one look; she just wanted to know what her mother saw. _

_The silver circle across the room caught the shreds of light cast by moon and candle and gleamed with an unearthly pallor. Rhosyn could see the hazy outline of her own silhouette slinking through the shadows that crossed the face of the mirror. She set her candle down on the nearest cabinet to see it better. _

_Her reflection was a haunting mask in the broken light, and her expression was stark. Ghostly eyes stared back at her; her reflection judged her. She wondered what it saw, what it thought…if it thought she was worthy. _

"_You will not have me," she whispered to it. Unyielding, her reflection stubbornly held her gaze until she turned her eyes away. She dared to brush her fingers over the brass fittings that held the mirror in place and let out a shriveled breath. Lightning didn't split the sky, the world didn't crumble around her—it was nothing more than a mirror after all. _

_Its touch was cold, but intoxicating. She pressed her fingers more fully on the lifeless metal, letting them fall into every detail that made up the structure. The workmanship of it had always entranced her. _

_It was the image of a tree, majestic and pure. Every curving branch had been carefully hammered into place, every texture stamped clearly on the surface of the brass. And high, tangled in the delicate branches, was the perfect circle of glass; it gleamed like the full moon itself through the branches of a midwinter tree. _

_She whispered breathily; no word, but an incoherent pocket of raw emotion that summed up the intricacy of its details. Her breath fogged the glass, tainting the flawless surface. _

"_What are you doing here?" _

_The voice was close at her shoulder, its tone neither questioning nor innocent, but angry. Rhosyn had not heard the queen come in or seen her in the reflection. Caught, she turned; too hastily, for her fingers snagged between the brass branches and pulled. She heard the grating of metal on stone—despair suddenly airborne in the hollow silence that filled the room—and then the shattering of Vanora's existence. _

_The thousands of shreds of glass glittered from every corner of the room like an ethereal blizzard. Rhosyn brushed glass dust away from herself, but her mother stood frozen rigidly in place as the fairylike glass flakes settled on her clothes and in her hair and face. _

_Time forgot itself in that moment and ceased its insistent racing, as equally frozen in horror as the mother and daughter who faced each other over the settling storm of white. And then Vanora spoke again. _

"_What have you done?" _

_What began as a broken whisper ended in a piercing scream. Vanora's hands reached out to her daughter's neck. "What have you done?"_

_Rhosyn tore away, felt fingernails tearing at skin._

_And she ran. _

* * *

Storynotes: this is something I am thinking about turning into a full-length novel. In the meantime, it's fanfiction length. Regular font=regular story, _Italics=linearly decreasing flashbacks. _Just thought I'd throw that in because it's a little more difficult to understand on here than on my computer. Fanfiction messes with my aesthetics...Anyway, this chapter obviously includes one of each. Future chapters might be the same, or only one. Not that you care at this point.

Any questions, ask. Any reviews, leave. Much obliged.


	2. Chapter 2

Seeking the sun, she found the meadow. Clouds still covered most of the sky, but already she felt her breath thawing in the thin fingers of sunlight that reached out to her and pulled her from the heavy canopy of trees.

The color of the meadow was muted and pastel in the shaky light, not quite free of the frozen morning dew even though the day was already half spent. Winter had come early this year.

It was then that she saw the cottage at the far end of the meadow; colorful and understated, solid but inviting. It was the most beautiful thing in the world to Rhosyn, who had not expected to find any kind of comfort so deep in the forest, so far from everything she knew.

Smoke curled from the chimney. The wind blew it toward Rhosyn, who grew suddenly afraid. The warmth of the smoke didn't linger, but its promise did. She had no option but to ask for help and mercy. She prepared words of her sorry tale and braced her hands into fists to knock on the door. Every step in its direction was slower, heavier.

Still twenty steps away, the door opened. A young woman emerged, her smile bright as spring as she called something back inside. She had long light brown hair that disappeared beneath a woven hat, and fair skin covered with warm furs. Her arms were full of laundry to be washed. There must be a stream nearby.

Rhosyn froze, wishing she could fade. Laughing, the girl almost didn't see her. When she did, and noticed Rhosyn's thin dress and unkempt hair, the laundry tumbled forgotten to the ground.

She felt herself led to the door. The girl talked, asked questions, commanded unseen people, but Rhosyn heard none of it. Then there were others suddenly standing around her, offering food and water, a blanket, sleep. When she accepted nothing, the girl lowered her into a chair by the fireplace. Other hands lowered a blanket around her shoulders and pressed a bowl of steaming broth into her hands. Still more hands spooned broth down her throat until her voice was thawed. The girl shooed away the other hands and knelt in front of her.

"What is your name?" she asked gently. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Rhosyn," she whispered. Her voice was a croak. Numb fingers found the wooden spoon and she fed herself. "My name is Rhosyn," she repeated, louder.

"Tethys," the girl said, pointing to herself, and she smiled. Rhosyn could only nod. Tethys pulled a chair from the nearby table to face Rhosyn better. She pried the empty bowl from Rhosyn's fingers and took her hands.

"You are warming, at least," she said, satisfied. She leaned back. "But what are you doing out here? Where are you from?"

Rhosyn didn't answer. She rocked idly in her chair, staring into the flames. Tethys gave up.

"You are safe here," she said simply.

There was no sign of the other hands that had helped her, but they must have been around. She glanced around the cottage, at the woven rug on the hearth, the dried flowers on the mantelpiece, the table with four sturdy chairs, the stairs leading up, the hangings on the wall…

Rhosyn froze. She fell off her chair, stumbling backwards. She scrambled into a corner, curling into herself, trying to hide from the mirror on the wall.

"She can see me. She'll find me," she whispered, sobbing. Tethys tried to calm her, but Rhosyn couldn't say anything else. "She'll find me," she insisted, rocking in torment. Finally Tethys seemed to understand.

"This?" she asked. She removed the small oval from the wall, studying it. Shrugging, she stepped closer to Rhosyn, still holding it. "This is only a mirror," she said, holding it in front of Rhosyn's face. Rhosyn saw searching, frantic eyes and a face that was not her own.

"Get it out," she wept, covering her face and turning away. Fingernails dug into hard-packed earth and sturdy walls. "Get it out, get it out, get it out."

The glass turned grey, the color of the clouds outside. Panicked, Rhosyn slapped the mirror from Tethys' hand, slamming it to the floor. She exhaled sharply as she heard it shatter and gasped as a shard sunk into the flesh of her hand.

"Hold her back," she heard Tethys saw. "Don't let her cut herself again."

The hands returned. Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her firmly back. She fell into them, sobbing. She didn't notice when Tethys pulled the glass from her palm, or when the strong arms carried her away.

The mirror was in pieces, but Vanora's eyes were everywhere. She was always watching.

* * *

"_Who was that girl? Who were you talking to?" Vanora asked as Rhosyn passed in the hall beyond the room. Rhosyn stopped, surprised. Her mother must be talking to her, but she had not taken her eyes from the mirror. She spent most of her days in her parlor room, watching herself. _

_Rhosyn stood on the threshold, not wanting to take the step that would place her in direct sight of her mother. She would not even wait in the larger antechamber. She could see the blue sky through the windows on either side of the mirror; that must have been how Vanora saw her on the grounds. _

"_Just a friend of mine. She's the gardener's new assistant. She was teaching me about different types of flowers." She hid her hands, still dirty from working in the greenhouse. _

"_A gardener's assistant is not your friend," Vanora murmured. "There is no reason for you to see her again." _

_Rhosyn twisted her face into a stoic mask and nodded, but Vanora didn't see. She was playing with her hair, twisting one strand at a time, shifting angles often to determine the best look. _

"_Mirrors see everything, you know," Vanora said. She caressed the polished brass frame, fingers lingering on every engraved detail. She seemed to have no memory of the conversation she had just shared with her daughter, continuing in a velvety tone. "They are the truest of friends, the only ones you truly need. You can hide nothing from them. They are honest, objective…perfect."_

_The last was spoken to herself as she observed her own visage: flawless ivory skin tinged with shades of rose at cheeks and lips. She had ebony-black lashes and brows above storm-grey eyes, and a curtain of starless midnight hair that framed her face and fell gracefully down her back. She compared her reflection to that of her daughter, who she could see in the mirror even though Rhosyn couldn't see herself over her mother's shoulder. _

"_Your face is filthy," Vanora observed at last. The words were cold and empty when they reached Rhosyn. She rubbed at her face—evidence of an enjoyed summer day—but only smeared it further in deep brown streaks. Vanora cast her aside to the wall, ashamed that her precious mirror should be so sullied. The glass itself was unblemished—she made certain of that—but its image was obscured now by the dirt, tarnished and shamed._

"_Go upstairs and wash," she murmured to her daughter's reflection. Vanora closed her eyes and did not open them until she heard Rhosyn close the door behind her. _

_Rhosyn found a clean corner of her autumn smock and wiped away her muddy handprint from the doorknob. She turned to the stairs, though her tears had already cleansed her face with ribbons of salt. She did not know how she could have expected anything different. Her mother had not changed, no matter how she wished it. And now she had deprived Rhosyn of the one friend who hadn't been taught to avoid her. Why had she changed so?_

_Vanora's words followed her up the polished marble staircase. "Make sure you get it all. I'll be watching."_


	3. Chapter 3

The blankets on top of her were humble and homespun, but undeniably warm. She stirred feebly beneath them as the sun crested the distant horizon. Birdsong greeted her awakening, and a tray of food on the bedside table: brown bread, a piece of cheese, and what appeared to be warm mint tea.

She sat herself up in the bed and saw that she was in a different room than what she remembered. It was simple, containing only a bed, the small table, and a bureau. There was a woven tapestry on the wall beside the window, but no mirrors. Rhosyn thought she could hear Tethys' voice from beyond the room.

Halfway through the tea, Tethys reappeared, her smile as broad as ever. She made sure Rhosyn was feeling well enough to stand and gave her a dress that she brought in. It was warmer and studier than the nightdress she had escaped with, and a pleasant change from the silly silks and designs that her mother had taken to insisting on. The dress was followed by a pair of rabbit-skin boots and a heavy shawl.

"Are you ready to go downstairs?"

Tethys had been silent and helpful while Rhosyn dressed, but now she returned to her talkative self. Rhosyn was still reluctant to speak. She merely nodded, and though she felt able to walk, she did not protest when Tethys took her arm and led her out of the room.

She remembered the house better now. She was on the stairs she had seen yesterday, able to see the entire house. In one corner was a small kitchen: cupboards and a basin and a trapdoor leading to a cellar. The table was just beyond that, beside a door that led to a second bedroom. There was a small sitting area in front of the fireplace, but the chairs had been pushed back for a pile of blankets.

There were two men sitting on the chairs, waiting for Tethys to lead their new houseguest down. She did not recognize them, though she knew it must have been their hands obeying Tethys' orders yesterday.

When they reached the bottom steps, the younger-looking of the men stood and offered his hand to Rhosyn. He guided her firmly to the seat he had vacated and, after releasing her, took a seat on the stairs instead. Tethys stood behind the other man, resting her hand on his shoulder. His seat was turned to Rhosyn, and she lowered her eyes as he scrutinized her. He did not seem as friendly as Tethys.

"So you're the one these two found last night, are you?"

His voice was gruff, but not necessarily mean. Rhosyn nodded, not knowing what else to do.

"How did you find us out here? Where are you from?"

She tried to answer, but no words came. She shrugged instead.

"Do you have a voice or don't you?" he asked impatiently. She blushed, but still couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

"Sawyer," Tethys chided him gently. Leaving her position behind him, she knelt in front of Rhosyn, low enough to catch her eyes.

"Don't be frightened of my husband. He's harmless, and he means well."

At this, Sawyer grunted again. Muttering something impatiently, he donned hat and gloves and stomped outside. He shut the door quickly behind himself, but Rhosyn still shivered beneath her shawl.

Tethys pulled herself into his abandoned chair and took Rhosyn's hand reassuringly. "Don't let him frighten you," she insisted. "Take as long as you need to talk to us, okay?" Rhosyn nodded weakly. Sawyer called to Tethys from outside. Sighing, she rose to see what help he needed.

"My brother will stay with you," she told Rhosyn, pointing to the man on the steps. Then, to him, "Mind she stays warm, Ellis." He merely nodded.

The morning passed quickly for Rhosyn; her thoughts were dark and troubled. Whenever she felt especially chilled, she would stare intently at the fire until it soaked through her eyes and into her soul. She began to see flames whenever she closed her eyes.

Sawyer and Tethys were in and out of the house all day, adding more logs to the already significant stack beside the fireplace, or simply warming their hands against the blaze. Tethys would smile at her whenever it was her turn to fuel the fire, but Sawyer seemed to find her presence amusing. He glanced at her often, chuckling to himself about her obvious determination not to meet his eyes.

Ellis was inside the entire time, though he flitted in and out of her line of vision. At times she could hear him working behind her in the kitchen or rummaging in the cellar below. And once, when the house was particularly drafty from Sawyer's tromping inside and out, Ellis pressed a steaming tankard of apple cider into her hands and dropped into the vacant chair beside her with some cider of his own.

He stirred the fire in silence and sipped his drink. The headiness of the cider was intoxicating to Rhosyn, who drank gratefully. The drink warmed her insides more than the fire had been able to, and she felt herself relaxing as it coursed through her. It had drowned her black thoughts, for now.

After several long minutes of simple silence, she dared to glance at her companion. His skin was flushed from the cold, his eyes fixed on the fire as intently as hers had been. She could see the flames dancing in them, staining the brown eyes ocher.

He did not pressure her to speak; he simply wanted to make her comfortable. He set a hand on the armrest of his chair. It was bandaged, though Rhosyn could see spots of dried blood seeping through. It matched her own carefully bandaged hand.

She remembered the hands that had held her; they had shaken the glass from her and carried her to the upstairs bedroom. The pile of blankets she had seen in the fire, she realized, had been his bed last night. He had cleared them away earlier. It must be his room that she had taken.

She immediately felt guilty; both for how much this family had sacrificed on her behalf, and for her inability to thank them for it. No more. These people were not her mother, and she was safe here.

"Thank you."

Her voice seemed to startle him. She shifted awkwardly and jerked his shoulders into what must have been a shrug. She thought she saw the faintest hint of a shy smile, but it was gone instantly.

"Think nothing of it, lady," he said. His voice was soothing and warm. "I am sure you are used to far better than what we have been able to offer you."

"What do you mean?" She stiffened. Did they know who she was? What she had done?

He noticed her sudden rigidity—even if he didn't know how he had offended her—and immediately tried to calm her. "I meant nothing. I just assumed, with your silken nightgown. Besides—" he blushed, and stirred the fire as an excuse to look away, "—no one as pretty as you could be anything other than noble, whether you were born there or taken there."

She hung her head, her cheeks warm in the flames. "I'm not pretty," she mumbled. Again, Ellis noticed how uncomfortable she seemed, and said nothing more about her. The hesitant conversation turned instead to the house and his family, and continued well past when Sawyer and Tethys returned and the four of them sat down to dinner. Rhosyn relaxed a little, but she wasn't able to wholly shake her anxiousness until she surrendered herself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_The empty corridors were icy and stripped of any friendly light, but the route was familiar to the young child, and she did not lose her way. Shadows slithered around her, whispering of misdeed and dark things, but her curiosity weighed more than fear. _

_Fingers splayed on cold walls kept her from falling; deep, warm breaths reassured her shivering heart. And then, as the corridor opened into the staircase, she saw the sliver of light ahead. She held her breath—and descended. _

_The light beneath the door was warm on Rhosyn's toes, but did little for the rest of her body. Steadily and stealthily, she lowered herself to her knees and peered through the keyhole of the door. _

_Every candle in Vanora's dressing chamber was lit, as they were every night. The servants took it in turn to light the candles before they retired. It had been almost a year now since the queen had received the mirror, and her need to be with it had only grown. The servants accepted their task without question—at least, they learned to. Rhosyn, however, had yet to understand her mother's sudden fixation on her gift. _

_The flickering candlelight filled the entire room equally, but Rhosyn's eyes were drawn to the inner chamber, where stood her mother and the mirror. _

_Vanora's back was to the door. She had shed her nightdress, and Rhosyn thought she could feel how cold her mother must be. She shivered, thankful for her own thin wrappings. _

_Over the sound of her own breathing, Rhosyn could hear her mother's voice murmuring softly to herself. The words were inaudible, but she could guess them. Vanora shifted often, using different angles of the candlelight to express different curves, different expressions—and always with her eyes on the mirror. Quietly, she crooned to herself, admiring her reflection. _

_Rhosyn pulled back slightly, and studied her own childish face reflected hazily in the polished doorknob._

_"Am I pretty too?" she whispered. _

_She put her eye back to the keyhole. Vanora was on her knees now, clinging to the wall beneath the mirror. She was there a long minute, in desperate supplication to her glass deity. Then, deciding she had worshipped enough for the night, she turned._

_The planes of her face were harsh in the flame and cold shadows all around her, and the look of ferocity and total dependence in her eyes made Rhosyn fall back from the door. As Vanora began blowing out candles, Rhosyn slipped back upstairs, haunted by her mother's image and a determination to never return again. She didn't want to be pretty. She didn't want to owe her soul to a piece of glass. _


End file.
